javiervidal

[javiervidal]

my old man is a tough man but he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam and he shows me he knows me, every inch of my tar black soul he doesn’t mind I have a flat broke down life in fact he says he thinks it’s why he might like about me, admires me the way I roll like a rolling stone

[javiervidal]

A small note attached to the vase merely has a hastily drawn doodle of a knife in a heart.

He will 100% know what it means and, because he knows Lucretia, might suspect that the handmade (yes, she made it) vase was painted with actual blood involved. (item link)

@javiervidal

[javiervidal]

you fucking cunt!

@vvrcths

[javiervidal]

This meeting has been a long time coming. It’s no great secret that Emilio Kovac was the one who called for Eliza Crawford’s deposition in the months leading up to her arrest, nor is it a secret that he put his own name forward for the position of Crooked Hand in her absence, ultimately suffering a humiliating defeat in favour of someone who... well, someone who wasn’t even trying to get the bloody job. Javier isn’t sorry that things turned out this way, not even a little bit, but Emilio is an unknown variable to him now. Better to cut the head off the snake before it tries to bite him, if that’s what Emilio intends.

Javier hears the door to the office close as the clock chimes three o’clock, but it’s a few moments before he looks up from the ledger he’s writing in, waiting for Emilio to speak before he finally sets down his pen. “I did,” Javier acknowledges, gesturing at the vacant chair opposite his desk with a smile that glimmers like a razor’s edge. “Come in, killer, have a seat.”

Reclining in his own chair, Javier looks unflinchingly into the face of the man that opposed him, his dark eyes appraising. Critical. “Look, I ain’t gonna fanny about making small-talk with you, Kovac - I invited you here to see where the fuck your head’s at. ‘Cause, from where I’m sitting, the future ain’t lookin’ too bright for you right now.”

who: @javiervidal​​ where: one man’s trash

Emilio rereads the text for what feels like the hundredth time after arriving outside One Man’s Trash, phone gripped tightly in a gloved hand. It doesn’t say much — simple instructions to meet Javier at three pm sharp followed by the address of the antiques shop favoured by the Jolly Rogers. Of course, following the events of the vote and Eliza’s disposal, there isn’t any great need for more to be said. He can damn well imagine what Javier wants to talk about even if Emilio has little interest in hearing it. He’s still irritated, to put it mildly, by how the vote turned out, even if he isn’t surprised. Ten years of silent obedience have made no difference; he’s still the outsider. Failing to gain control over the gang has just turned him into the outsider who unsuccessfully tried to stage a coup.

After pocketing the phone Emilio finally enters the shop, bypassing all displays and the sparsely occupied seating area in favour of an inconspicuous door leading to the back room. He’s been here many times before, if under vastly different circumstances. Eliza, for all her flaws, had been a fair leader with an interest in keeping her people safe and close by. From what he’s heard of Javier, Emilio isn’t so certain the same can be said of her replacement.

Big Ben strikes three not long after Emilio closes the door behind him, back kept to the wall as he eyes the awaiting situation with no small amount of wariness. Trust is a thing earned not given, and something he has little of to spare these days. “You wanted to see me?”

[javiervidal]

mayor-espino·:

.

“Oh, I am quite alright,” and there went his chance to go out without being noticed. His eyes strayed from the porcelain monstrosity and toward the man who’d been, he supposed, busy in the back. He didn’t look like he was in sales, or sound like it, and the mayor’s RP accent and choice of words was a sure way to identify him as belonging to a certain caste. He returned easily to a much simpler way of communicating while home with his husband or with his parents, but when out in public, a mask slipped on, one crafted by communicants and assistants.

“Ah, it’s fine. I’m looking to find a wedding anniversary present, but I’m not sure…” Well he had no real idea of what else he was supposed to get his husband. They had anything they could wish for, and Luis spent a good amount of time dissuading his darling spouse of buying things on a whim.

Emerging from behind the sculpture to get a better look at who he’s talking to, Javier can’t help the bubble of surprised laughter that escapes him. Shit the bed. “Fuckin’ hell, ain’t you the mayor?” Of course, he knows exactly who the man in front of him is. Not only is he the Mayor of London, a lefty-liberal and the proud owner of a very wanky accent, but he’s also Theodore Liddell-Byrne’s husband. Theo’s decision to throw his lot in with Luis Espino, of all people, is a decision Javier could never pretend to understand - how much can you really love a person when you’re completely different at a fundamental level? When they don’t really know a damn thing about you? Total head-fuck.

He makes a sympathetic face when Luis reveals what he's here for, but inside, he's fucking giddy. This is just too good. “Ah, shit. Well, in that case, I can hardly let you walk away empty-handed, can I? An antiques dealer I ain’t, but I have bought my fair share of anniversary gifts over the years, so maybe I can help you out.” Not that he thinks Theodore and Lucretia have even remotely the same taste in presents. “What sort of things do they like? Your partner?"

[javiervidal]

thomas-reyes·:

.

“You better get used to it,” he grinned and tossed a look back to the camera on the shelf. No, it wasn’t gonna fly away. Focus. Had he taken his medicine this morning ? He remembered his wife telling him to pick up his new prescription but couldn’t recall that part. His face remained expressionless as the other started to mention a job for him to do.

something that’ll make the most of your skillset

Oh boy, what was that supposed to mean? With his eyes now set on his boss, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a light shrug. Yes? Sure? Why not? “Not much I can’t do, is there?” Except for a couple of things maybe. A lot of things, probably, but he could do his job well, both of them. “Let’s hear it.”

“Like that confidence, kid,” Javier says with a smirk, taking another drag of his cigarillo and releasing an acrid cloud of smoke into the air between them. “Facts are, Thomas, that story about Mother Crawford should never’ve made the papers, yeah? I mean, what does that make us look like? Bunch of dickheads, is what.” Weak. Unable to protect their own. It’s a fucking insult, and Javier won’t let it stand. “The way I see it, we’ve got a leak on our hands, and I want it plugged up. I want you to find the reporter that blew the fucking whistle, and I want them silenced in whatever way you see fit. Get me?”

The cigarillo still hanging out of the corner of his mouth, Javier gets up heavily from the desk, crossing the room to stand in front of the shelf Thomas has been staring at. He takes down the vintage camera, passing it back and forth between his hands as he looks it over, considering it. “This is a nice piece,” he comments thoughtfully, “Why don’t you take it? On me.” He holds out the camera with one hand, letting it dangle precariously from his fingers by its strap. “Call it an investment.”

[javiervidal]

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVI GUTIERREZ The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022)

[javiervidal]

where: outside the hospital when: lunch time with: @isabellamorales​​

“Well, if it ain’t the prettiest future-neurosurgeon in London!” Javier greets cheerfully, dropping his cigarillo on the ground and crushing it beneath his boot as Isabella emerges from the hospital - he seems to have missed the ‘no smoking’ sign posted on the wall behind him. It’s been over a year since they saw each other last, but Javier thinks nothing of opening his arms for a hug as she approaches him. “How’ve you been, darlin’? Not working yourself too hard, I hope?”

[javiervidal]

where: one man’s trash when: nap time with: @b4d14nd3r​

Working out of One Man’s Trash is hardly a convenient arrangement. Maybe it was a good fit for Eliza, maybe she liked being surrounded with piles of stolen bric-a-brac because it reminded her of her long-past glory days, but as far as Javier’s concerned? It’s mostly junk, and it’s in his way.

Still, he pushes into the building, ready for another few hours of meetings and strategizing, only to realise that not only is Sonny notably absent, but that there is somebody else in here somewhere. Following the sounds of laboured breathing, Javier moves quietly between the shelves, his hand on the grip of the pistol concealed beneath his suit jacket. He isn’t sure who he’s expecting to find concealed behind the counter, but it certainly isn’t a pink-haired youth who is apparently asleep. Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, he delivers a swift kick to the stranger’s sneaker to wake them up. “Long day?” He asks, tone friendly enough, though his smile carries a distinctive edge.

[javiervidal]

Lucretia is making him wait. Javier knows that because he does the same thing, having learned this little trick from her a lifetime ago. It’s a power play, turning up late to an appointment you organised, a manoeuvre designed to demonstrate how valuable your own time is while devaluing that of the other party. Knowing the game doesn’t make it any easier to take, and he can feel the blood simmering in his veins already. She always did know how to push his buttons.

Ten minutes tick by, and he can’t stand it anymore. Javier is not a patient man, could never be accused of being such, and the more time that passes, the more agitated he becomes. He gets up from the desk he was sitting at and takes to pacing back and forth like a caged jungle cat, clenching and unclenching his fists for something to do. It’s the first time he’s seen Lucretia in over a year, and the anticipation is exacerbating the worst of his impulses - he’s angry, yes, but he’s also... excited. And therein lies the danger.

It’s insane that he can sense her presence in the building before she’s even managed to get anywhere near him. The ring of her stilettos on the hardwood floor, the ghost of her perfume in the air, hell, he fancies he can even hear her heartbeat thrumming in his ears - but maybe it’s just his own. At last, the door swings open, and there she is in all her glory. Lucretia looks incredible, but then again, she always looks incredible. Javier has to fight to tear his eyes away from the ink on her skin, to resist the urge to devour the poisonous snake in front of him, now matter how appealing it looks. Fuck.

“Don’t fuckin’ start, ‘Tia,” he warns, trying to ignore the way her calling him jefe makes him feel. Because she’s right, he is the fucking boss now, and he can’t let her get under his skin (as if she hasn’t already made her home there, an indelible mark on his soul). “Mummy might’ve let you get away with mugging her off, but that ain’t gonna fly now I’m running things. Where the fuck have you been?”

where: One Man's Trash when: mid-evening whom: @javiervidal

When Lucretia had gotten the call, she understood nigh-immediately that she was likely the last on his list of people to talk to. She wasn't offended though, no, she was thrilled. It meant that she still had some semblance of meaning to him. His eat, pray, dick tour through another country had not lessened how she effected him and, whether she understood it or not, that made her happy.

No, instead she'd taken her time, deciding to be a little late to the appointment time SHE had agreed to and set up; just long enough for him to think she had almost forgotten.

Each step through One Man's Trash was calculated, as if looking for spots to make sure the sound of her heels resonated — reinforced with titanium with a removable tip to reveal a stiletto blade — as much as they could.

Who dresses like that to a first meeting with their new boss? Even if it is your ex-husband. A perfectly tailored deep red silk suit jacket buttoned just beneath her rib cage but left open to reveal the bare skin of her decolletage and sternum as she wore no shirt underneath; a pair of matching silk pants made for her, clinging against her hips and snug at her thighs but flaring out a little towards the ankle; a pair of black heels with six inch high heels and modifications to suit her tastes; her hair was pulled up, a messy bun that left pieces falling to frame her face, artfully done to seem as if it wasn't, but each aspect was perfectly planned; across her fingers — between the top and middle knuckle as well as beneath the middle knuckle — several rings of varying metals and gemstones, but all perfectly meshing with her entire vibe.

The real kick was, dangling on a long, delicate chain in the center of her bare chest, next to a tattoo of a black tattoo of an anatomical heart with lines of gold in the style of kintsugi, was a small charm — an arrow made of platinum pointing straight at her real AND tattooed heart — seeming almost fragile in the way it hung yet she never seemed worried.

No, this wasn't how one dressed to meet with their new boss; it's how one dresses when they plan to kill their new boss. Or, perhaps, other fun things.

She knocked on the door but didn't wait to be admitted, instead pushing it open and letting it close in behind her. Her arms would come to cross her torso, one hip cocked out and looking all at once excited and bored. He'd know better than anyone there wasn't a part of her outfit that didn't house some kind of weapon... the cuffs of her sleeves, in fact, had razor thin garrote wires, for instance.

"Javier," the name on her tongue felt like a forbidden prayer, a litany of gospel she had no idea of and dripped a venom laced sweetness, "so glad to see you made it back in one piece. Oh, I apologize."

A slight grin tugged one corner of her mouth, head cocking to the side, "I should say... Jefe."

[javiervidal]

It’s been all systems go since Javier arrived back in the country a few weeks ago. From the moment the plane touched down, he’s been swept up in an endless blur of meetings and strategies and touring round all of the Jolly Rogers’ business fronts to make sure everything’s kosher, trying to figure out where the problem areas are so he can fix them. It’s what he’s doing at the antique shop today, for his sins - who knew running a gang required so much fucking admin?

Hearing the bell above the door, Javier swears under his breath, having no choice but to step out from the storage room and into the store proper. He’s the only one here, and he needs to get rid of whoever it is, so he can get this shit done and go home. “Alright, mate?” He calls in the direction of the world’s ugliest centrepiece, where the supposed-customer is hidden from view. “The dealer’s out, I’m afraid - might want to come back tomorrow, yeah?”

—     Location : L’antique c’est chic   —       With @javiervidal

Luis had been trying to think of something to gift for their Tin Anniversary. He’d have a much easier time if it had not been tradition to offer something made of damn tin. That would be when he thought of going for something dating back to the 1910′s instead. Yes, it was technically cheating on the traditions but Luis, while he usually showed respect for those, refused to buy a piece of trash to his husband. He’d pushed the door leading to this antique store on the advice of one of his collaborators. Sure enough the place looked like it had everything one could ask of an expensive antique store, and he’d have been delighted if it wasn’t for the fact that those places always made him feel out of place. It was silly, he knew that, but catching with his eye a £103,350 price tag on a tacky centerpiece made him feel even more uneasy.

[javiervidal]

“Jefe,” Javier repeats with a shake of his head, exhaling a smoky laugh as he reaches over the desk he’s sitting at to ash his cigarillo. “Fuck me, man, that’s gonna take a bit of getting used to.” Not that he minds, of course. It’s true that Javier hadn’t sought out his new position - hadn’t even thought of it with any degree of seriousness - but when the call came, he’d leapt in with both feet, as is his way. Every gangster has their own ideas about how things ought to be run, but few of them ever get the chance to see their vision into reality. So here he is.

“Look, Thomas, I ain’t ever been one to beat around the bush, so I’ll clue you in on why I asked you to meet me today. I’ve got a little job for you, see, something that’ll make the most of your skillset.” He follows Thomas’s line of sight to the dusty camera tucked away on its shelf, and then returns his gaze to the other man’s face, giving him a pointed look. “If you can handle it, that is.”

For @javiervidal​​

“First of all congratulations, jefe,” he wasn’t sure why he’d been summoned by the newly named crooked hand. Thomas already knew that this wouldn’t be the same relationship as the one he had with Eliza. She’d often treated him like her son. He didn’t expect this from Vidal. Shoving the last bits of his danish into his mouth, he took a look around the room, dragging his finger along the edge of one of Sonny’s shelves. “Is that a…” He’d come back for the old camera later, for now, he wanted to see what the boss had in mind.

[javiervidal]

headcanon 001. javier had a vasectomy when he was eighteen. it’s unusual practice for someone so young, and he had to throw his weight around to get a doctor to do it, but he knew it was what he wanted. being the consequence of an unwanted pregnancy himself, he’s not taking any fucking chances - and this way he can shag whoever he wants, whenever he wants.

[javiervidal]

bruised knuckles. a bloody smile. testing the cut on your lip with your tongue. a loud bang from somewhere in the distance. ringing in your ears. resisting arrest. whiskey and cigarillos. shoot first, ask questions later. ill-advised sex in semi-public places. remembering where you came from. having to fight for everything you’ve got. the pig-headed belief that you’re always right. boisterous laughter. a wink and a smile for the prettiest face in a crowd. struggling to let things go.

statistics.

full name:  javier vidal nickname(s):  javi name meaning:  new house age:  fifty-two date of birth:  april 16th star sign:  aries place of birth:  poplar, london (now tower hamlets) current location:  lambeth, london gender:  cis-male pronouns:  he/him sexual orientation:  bisexual religion:  raised catholic (not a very good catholic) occupation:  mob boss family:  david vidal (father, estranged), alejandra franklin (mother), bernard “bernie” franklin (step-father, estranged), ricardo “ricky” franklin and antonio “tony” franklin (half-brothers, estranged), emilia franklin (half-sister, estranged) “sweeney todd” (ex-wife) education level:  didn’t even get his o levels (old man equivalent to gcses) living arrangements:  a modern warehouse conversion in stockwell financial status:  wealthy spoken languages:  english, spanish

inspirations.

reggie kray (legend) harry (in bruges) tyler durden (fight club) euron greyjoy (game of thrones) maxwell roth (assassin’s creed: syndicate) reyes vidal (mass effect: andromeda) bill sykes (oliver twist)

biography. (tws for poverty, xenophobia, violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics)

A third generation Chilean immigrant, Javier Vidal has never known any home but London. Born and raised in Poplar (a notoriously impoverished area of the city) life was always going to be a struggle for his family - for stability, for money, for respect - but struggle they did. Javier’s grandparents went about things the old fashioned way, sacrificing every last shred of their dignity to scrape together enough money to take over the lease on the local newsagent after the previous owner passed away. They managed it, just barely, but even at the tail-end of the sixties, Poplar wasn’t the most tolerant of places, and the shopfront was regularly graffitied or worse.

By the time Javier was born, the Vidals had come to realise that London’s streets weren’t paved with gold, as they had hoped they would be when they arrived in England. They had their shop, true, but it wasn’t enough - the family was still living on top of each other, three generations packed into two rooms, living hand-to-mouth. His mother, Alejandra, was only sixteen when she discovered she was expecting, and a wedding was quickly organised in a desperate attempt to hang on to the precious little respectability the Vidals had garnered within their community. It was only two years before Javier’s father vanished into the night, never to be seen again.

Javier was still young when he started looking for trouble (or when trouble started looking for him, as he’d always insist). He was a handsome, charismatic teenager, with a swagger in his step and an appetite for violence that only comes from feeling like you’ve got something to prove. It seemed as if he was destined for gang life from the get go, smoothly transitioning from playground bust-ups and brawling in the streets to the well-paid world of underground fighting. Javier was a workhorse in the ring, a surprisingly lithe figure that categorically refused to stay down, and it made him a hugely valuable commodity as a prize fighter. He would do whatever it took to win, and then some.

It was around this time that he set his sights on a woman known to the Jolly Rogers as Sweeney Todd. The former Crooked Hand, a man by the name of Alistair Winchester, had heard of Javier’s success on the underground fighting circuit, and was actively trying to recruit him to his cause. Sweeney was Alistair’s niece, and had been embroiled in the workings of the gang since she was very young, meaning she was already well established as a career assassin. Javier was drawn to her immediately - he knew they were made for each other.

As his relationship with Sweeney developed, Javier became as assimilated into the Jolly Roger lifestyle as she was, working his way up from pit fighter to contract killer in a matter of years. He would always prefer working with his hands (or, rather, his fists), but he learnt to wield a gun with precision and deadly force. As a rule, Javier and Sweeney were not supposed to work contracts together - they were both experts in their craft, but their dynamic was volatile and unpredictable, entirely inexplicable to anyone but themselves. People used to say that one day they’d either kill each other, or end up married - they chose the latter.

Realistically, it was never going to last between them - in fact, it’s some kind of miracle (or maybe a curse) that their marriage survived the eleven years it did. After one, final, explosive argument, the Vidals separated for good, but angry as they were, they couldn’t stay away from each other for long. Javier started taking contracts abroad, furthering his reputation with the Rogers while doing his best to forget about Sweeney. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t move on from her. He’s never been good at letting go.

When Eliza Crawford shit the bed and got herself nicked, it was only a matter of time before someone was called in to clean up her mess. Following the customary vote between senior members of the gang, Javier was compelled to return from his work overseas, not so much stepping into Eliza’s shoes as kicking them out of his way. He never sought the title of the Crooked Hand, and his election came as a surprise, but who is he to spit in the face of democracy? If the Jolly Rogers want a show of force, Javier Vidal would be the one to give it to them.

other things.

Before he was the Crooked Hand, Javier was known as Sykes, after the character from Oliver Twist. Not the most flattering of code names, but he’s never been much of a reader, and didn’t understand the connotations until much later on. 

Javier calls in on his mother approximately once every six months. They didn’t have the best of relationships after she remarried and started a hew better family, but she’s old now, and the only surviving relative he’s still in touch with.

He's not usually much of a gambler, but he goes out of his way to attend the Royal Ascot every year, delighting both in betting on the horse races and terrorising the unfortunate toffs forced to share space with him for the duration of the event.

He’s a passionate West Ham supporter, and will thank you not to remind him how poorly they’ve been performing in the premiere league.

To date, Javier has never seen a cow in real life.

There isn’t a single event that could convince Javier to wear a tie. He didn’t even wear one to his wedding.

[javiervidal]

𝐣𝐨𝐚𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥     ⸻    ❝ he hit me and it felt like a kiss. ❞

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[javiervidal]

"When it comes to keeping your son alive, it's not about doing things the right way or the wrong way - but anyway you can."

[javiervidal]

with a thousand lies and a good disguise hit ‘em right between the eyes hit ‘em right between the eyes